


Kissenfestung

by Wahnsinn



Series: Rammstein requests [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn
Summary: Written for the prompt: I'd like to see a fic with Paul and Olli building a pillow fort. Up to you how far they go with "entertaining" themselves inside that fort.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Oliver Riedel
Series: Rammstein requests [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689187
Comments: 20
Kudos: 35





	Kissenfestung

**Author's Note:**

> The setting for this fiction is Sehnsucht Tour, when Rammstein played several concerts in the US.
> 
> Written for a prompt from [Rammfic](https://rammfic.dreamwidth.org/288.html?view=3616&posted=1#cmt3616): I'd like to see a fic with Paul and Olli building a pillow fort. Up to you how far they go with "entertaining" themselves inside that fort.

Oliver saw it coming long before it even happened. Paul had been attention seeking the entire day. Flake was deep in a magazine when he came over and started a long complaint about how much he missed Knäckebrot, how it was impossible to get it in the US, how he had visited so many stores, but how no one even knew what Knäckebrot was. The guitarist had vowed that he would never again go on tour without bringing his own stash of it. Staring miserably at a sad piece of pre-cut white bread, he launched himself into an ode to the German crispbread and all its virtues compared to the sad excuse for food that he was holding in his hand.

When Flake decided to use his magazine to try and stop the onslaught of words, using it as a barrier between them, Paul took the hint and moved on to Till, who unceremoniously planted his forehead onto the kitchen table. That was about as much as he was willing to contribute to the discussion.

Richard had been smoking by the window of the small kitchen. When Paul had come over to let him know how grumpy Flake and Till were, he had just taken a deep drag of his cigarette and let Paul talk. Though when Paul, after declaring his love and longing for Knäckebrot snatched a cigarette out of his pack without even asking first, Richard’s eyes had flared up, and Paul had been told in not so nice words to buy his own damn cigarettes.

Paul had muttered an excuse and turned to walk in Schneider’s direction, but the drummer had been quicker. “What the fuck is wrong with you today, Paul? Can you shut up about Knäckebrot already, we are in a god damn motel room in god damn USA, and nothing you say is going to make it magically appear. Why do you have to be so damn loud all the time!” he snapped even before Paul had managed to say a word.

From where he was sitting by himself in the sofa corner, Oliver immediately saw the hurt in Paul’s face. As the most outgoing of them, Paul often sought out his band mates to talk, and he didn’t even seem to mind if they were mostly one-sided conversations as long as he had someone who would listen. Though hours and hours in a tour bus through Europe had taken its toll on them all, and now being stuck in a country where they didn’t really understand the language did not help the issue for the chatty guitarist.

While Oliver generally did not mind sitting by himself just reading or playing his guitar, he tried to take walks, play some ball, or do some kind of sports whenever he had the chance. He sometimes missed being alone, especially enjoying long and lazy days by the sea, just chilling, swimming, and surfing.

Putting away the book he had been holding idly while observing the scene in the kitchen, Oliver started throwing the sofa pillows down onto the carpeted floor. A few seconds later, Schneider came stomping out of the kitchen. “I need some air,” the drummer frowned, and the sound of three more chairs against the kitchen floor confirmed that he was not the only one. Soon after, the door was slammed shut, and the motel room was empty apart from Oliver and a slightly lost looking Paul, who shuffled slowly into the sitting area.

“What are you up to?” the guitarist asked, his voice unusually meek, staring at the bassist who continued stripping the pillows from the sofa.

“Making a pillow fort,” Oliver replied, without looking up at Paul. “Come help me.”

Paul opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it. Instead, he flipped the table sideways onto its short end, moved the chairs, and fetched some sheets and blankets. Oliver smiled as the guitarist draped them across the chairs and the table, arranging them nicely so they flowed down the sides, making a proper fort around the pillows he had laid out on the floor.

Covering up the entrance of the quite exquisite fort, Oliver crawled in and let his long body sink down onto the pillows with a satisfied sigh. Paul giggled a bit at the bassist’s feet sticking out of the entrance. Unable to help himself, he ran a finger lightly across the sole of a foot, and was rewarded with a loud ‘eep’ and both feet disappearing rapidly into the fort.

“You know I hate being tickled,” Oliver mumbled as Paul lay down next to him on the soft pillows.

“I’m sorry, it was just too tempting,” Paul said, attempting to sound remorseful, but failing spectacularly as he was still giggling. To try and make up for it, he snuggled up close to Oliver, resting his hand on the soft stomach of his band mate.

Turning his head, Oliver gave him a sceptical look. “If you even think about tickling me, I am throwing you out of my fort.”

“Your fort?!” Paul replied incredulously. “I built this, too!”

“Was my idea.” Oliver demonstratively turned his head away from the guitarist and crossed his arms.

Paul didn’t reply. Instead, he gently lifted the bassist’s arm so he could snuggle a little bit closer. Oliver huffed, but wrapped his long arm around the small figure beside him. Pauls body was warm and soft. It had been a while since he had cuddled anyone at all, and he found that he enjoyed the physical contact. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift to endless beaches, warm sand, and perfect waves.

For a long time, the only sound that could be heard was their breathing, quiet buzzing from the kitchen, and the cars outside. Oliver savoured the silence. With six people travelling together in a bus, there always seemed to be someone making noise, whether it was talking, cooking, playing, or something else.

When a small repair had to be done on the tour bus in between two gigs, he had been delighted by the prospect of a night in a motel. Oliver had dreamt of a room of his own and a bed where he could stretch out fully, only to find the band crammed into a tiny family style room with one double bed, one bunk bed, and a sofa that could be pulled out to accommodate two. His arguments that length should trump age were quickly dismissed. As the youngest one, he got stuck on the rather short sofa with Paul, for whom size suddenly seemed to matter.

That was when he had decided to make a pillow fort. By laying the sofa pillows on the floor, he could easily give himself enough space to stretch out, and it would almost be like having a room of his own, even though he had to share it. And right now, he was very satisfied with his own plan.

Oliver felt Paul stirring a bit before the guitarist broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?” he said quietly, unusually so for being him.

Making an affirmative noise, Oliver felt Paul shift before he spoke again. “Do you think I am annoying?”

Oliver hesitated. “Knäckebrot?” he said thoughtfully, failing to come up with a better response.

The bassist was relieved when he heard Paul laugh a bit. “I guess I am a bit annoying,” the guitarist admitted. “I do miss Knäckebrot. But I think it is more that we have been travelling so much that I just miss the regular stuff at home, the food, my friends, my own bed. Or just being able to understand what people say so I can talk to them. And then I get restless, and something small like not having Knäckebrot feels so much bigger than it is. I think I really pissed off Schneider.”

There was a sadness in Paul’s voice that Oliver rarely heard from the normally happy and chipper guitarist. Oliver had often looked up to – obviously not literally – his older friend and colleague, sometimes wishing he could obtain just a little bit of his charm and his love for talking to people he didn’t know. Too many times, he had just frozen, clammed up, and fled as soon as he could, even in situations where he had wanted to talk.

“Schneider will get over it.” Oliver pulled the guitarist in a little tighter, and he felt Paul sigh contently against his chest. The band members were not afraid of physical affection and could both hug and kiss each other without there being more to it than friendship. They often shared beds to save money. Though there was something different about Paul.

Oliver didn’t really want to admit it, but he was attracted to his friend. Despite their different personalities, they got along well, and they shared many interests. The two of them could discuss photography for hours, they had gone surfing together, and Paul seemed happy to just spend time with him without talking all the time.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Oliver realised the train of thought had made him sigh loudly, and Paul was now staring at him, a curious look in his grey eyes.

The bassist felt himself blush a little, hoping that the dim light inside the pillow fort would hide it. “I like travelling, so I don’t mind not being home,” he started. “But I do miss time alone. I miss the beach. I miss – well, sometimes I wish I was a bit more like you, because it’s been a long time since I was with anyone.”

Oliver instantly felt like he had said too much. A surge of dread rose in him, and he closed his eyes, a lump forming in his chest as he feared the guitarist’s response.

To his surprise, Paul started laughing.

“You want to be like me? That’s a good one,” he chuckled, beautiful crow’s feet fanning out from the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know if you have paid attention, but I haven’t gotten anything for weeks. It’s all been Till and Richard lately. Besides, I am small and goofy. If anything, I would want to be like you. You are tall, mysterious, and handsome.”

Paul lifted his hand and let his fingers run along Oliver’s cheek. Swallowing, Oliver felt his body tense up, his breathing became shallow, and he was sure Paul could feel his heart almost beating through his chest.

“You are so cute when you are all flustered and shy,” Paul murmured, scooting up a little and stretching his neck so he could place a feather-light kiss at the corner of Oliver’s mouth while letting his hand slide down to the waistband of his wide pants, letting a teasing fingers slip just inside the edge of it.

Unable to speak and unwilling to stop what was happening, Oliver let Paul take control. Soon after, the guitarist was straddling him, his hands gently cupping his cheeks, leaning in to press his mouth against Oliver’s for a tender, yet impatient kiss. Paul’s lips were wonderfully soft, and the lump in Oliver’s chest moved down lower, something stirred in his pants, his mind was racing, and he was both excited and embarrassed at the same time.

As Paul broke out of the kiss to breathe, Oliver looked straight into two eyes full of love and adoration, and he melted. In that moment, he knew that Paul could do whatever he wanted with him, and from the smile on guitarist’s face, he knew Paul understood that, too.

Sitting up a bit, Paul grabbed Oliver’s t-shirt and pulled it up, exposing his slim, but muscular chest. As Oliver lifted himself up to pull the shirt over his head, Paul nuzzled into the small patch of hair, and as soon as the t-shirt was thrown to the side, Oliver found himself pushed down onto the pillows for more kisses and a curious tongue exploring his mouth.

A hand palming him through his pants made a small moan slip out from his lips. The unexpected sound from the otherwise so quiet bassist made Paul raise his eyebrows in surprise. Sliding down onto Oliver’s legs, the guitarist started unbuttoning Oliver’s brown cargo pants, holding his gaze while smiling mischievously. Soon after, Oliver’s breath became hitched, his long body arched, and he moaned loudly as Paul demonstrated that he could use his mouth for a lot more than just talking.

It took a little while before Oliver registered the laughter coming from outside the pillow fort. Blushing furiously, he covered his face with his hands, despite no one except from Paul being able to see him.

“Good job shutting Paul up!” he heard Richard say, and he didn’t even have to see him to imagine the grin he had to be sporting.

“Seems like he wanted Bratwurst more than Knäckebrot,” Till howled, causing Flake to burst out in a high-pitched giggle.

“Sorry Paul, I shouldn’t have complained about YOU being loud!” Schneider offered, before the four of them moved into to the kitchen, still laughing.

“Just ignore them. They’ll have to get used to it,” Paul whispered softly into Oliver’s ear, causing Oliver to whimper slightly from embarrassment. Yet he couldn’t help smiling a little from the implication of the guitarist's words.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading.


End file.
